


Let's Give it a Shot

by AndAllMannerofThings



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Domestic, F/F, Nothing Hurts, everything's perfect, here's some pretty shameless fluff for ya, holding hands and giving smooches and what not, just two girls that love each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAllMannerofThings/pseuds/AndAllMannerofThings
Summary: Ahsoka's night is going horribly. Her bank account is nearly empty, her computer screen is too bright, and her paper is making zero progress. She goes for a walk, partly out of the hope of finding some escape from her academic responsibilities.Barriss is... stressed out. Medical school does that to a person. It doesn't help that she's got two days to finish a report that's barely started. So she goes to get a drink and stretch her legs while she tries to ignore the sense of impending college doom gnawing in her stomach. Hey, maybe if she's lucky, some beautiful woman will come along and sweep her off her feet. But that's just wishful, tired, thinking.They both end up getting more than they bargained for.





	Let's Give it a Shot

Ahsoka’s staying up late, again, staring away at her computer under the vain hope the mish-mash of words and half baked ideas are somehow going to coalesce into a usable essay, but it’s useless. The words won’t come, and the notions in her head fail to yield any fruit. She has about as much of a chance at conjuring an essay from the void as Anakin does at getting Padmé to admit he’s handsome, but she keeps trying anyway.

Eventually, once she’s finished her third cup of cold caf and slurped down the last of her lukewarm take out, the glare of the screen burns her eyes something fierce, and she sighs. It’s a long, drawn out, dramatic sigh. The sort of sigh that would have been much more welcome if she had an audience.

She checks her datapad for anything of interest, and finds nothing save an hours-old notification from a social media account and a reminder that her paper is due in less than forty-eight hours and she has nothing to show for it. Ahsoka groans, and tosses the pad over her shoulder onto her couch. She hears it bounce once, twice, then...

_ Crack. _

She doesn’t even bother to check the damage. She just gets up from her computer, throws on her favorite coat, and she stalks out of her apartment into the night, where she can hopefully get a few ideas.

She doesn’t find any ideas as she descends the steps of her complex. She doesn’t find any ideas as she brushes past the custodial droid humming to itself. She doesn’t find any ideas as she trips over a crack in the walkway. She doesn’t find any ideas as she blows into her hands while a stiff breeze rolls by.

Ahsoka’s walking along, angry at the world, herself, her professor, herself, the city for being so kriffin’ loud, herself, her pad for breaking so easily, and herself. She doesn’t notice the girl in front of her until they blindly bump into each other.

The cup in the girl’s hand gets crushed in between them like garbage in a compactor. Brown liquid flies through the air, something with cinnamon going by the smell, and Ahsoka’s coat is splattered with the hot drink.

_ Goddammit,  _ she thinks.  _ This’ll never wash out. _

“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” she says, finally taking her view off the ground. The next sentence slips from her mind as she locks eyes with the girl.

The girl is...  _ cute.  _ A little on the shorter side (most people are compared to Ahsoka and Togrutas in general), olive skin, tattoos on her hands and face, a curl of black hair poking under her headscarf, and icy eyes with a heavy gaze.

“It’s my fault!” the girl says earnestly. She’s not just being politely apologetic, she honestly thinks it’s her responsibility.

Ahsoka can’t help but give a small grin. “I was the one staring at the ground,” she says. “My bad.” She narrows her eyes in the dim light. The girl’s familiar, somehow. Maybe they go to the same market?

“Oh no, I was the one looking at the sky,” the girl counters. She has a lovely voice, light and clear like a summer rain on Shili. Ahsoka finds herself wanting to hear her speak more.

“You were looking at the sky?” Ahsoka asks. She reaches into her coat and finds the handful of napkins she smuggled out of a fancy restaurant Plo invited her to the other week. She offers them wordlessly.

The girl takes them, and she starts dabbing the drink off her chest with practiced precision. This is not the first time she’s absentmindedly spilled something. “Yes. I’ve a lot on my mind, lately. University.”

Ahsoka’s sure she’s seen this girl before. “That so? Where do you go?”

The girl names a medical school just down the way from the university Ahsoka attends. Ahsoka’s not particularly surprised. Space on Coruscant is always a premium, especially for institutions as large as universities; schools tend to be placed next to each other like miniature districts dedicated to academics.

The girl finishes cleaning the drink off her chest. She starts to hand the soaked napkins back to Ahsoka, but she stops herself once she realises how silly that is. She throws them into a trash receptacle a few feet away. “I have a large paper due in a few days, but I’ve barely made any progress. I thought the night air might help me clear my head.”

Ahsoka grins fully, any hint of coyness gone from her lips. “I thought I’ve seen you before. I go to the school up the street from yours.”

The girl blinks in surprise, then her eyes widen in recognition. “Oh! Yes! The afternoon shuttle by the park! I swore you were familiar! I’m Barriss. Barriss Offee.”

Ahsoka nudges the crumpled cup with the toe of her boot, and she remembers that she’s supposed to be making amends. “I’m Ahsoka. Buy you another... whatever that is?”

It’s the least she can do.

Besides, it’s been awhile since she’s sat down and shared  _ anything  _ with a pretty girl. She welcomes the opportunity to correct that.

Barriss smiles shyly. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. It’s fine, really!”

Ahsoka makes a mental calculation as to the status of her bank account. Assuming she doesn’t go crazy until she gets her week’s pay, she can afford a few drinks.

“Please, I insist. My treat.” She gives a crooked smile. “Maybe we can help each other out, bounce some ideas around.”

A glint flashes in Barriss’s eyes. She grins. “That sounds lovely. I got the drink from a small place over there.” She points in the direction of a posher, snobbier, richer, market district than the one Ahsoka normally frequents.

“Lead the way.”

“My pleasure.” Barriss does so with a little bit of a spring in her step that Ahsoka suspects is normally not there.

It’s exactly what one would expect from an upper Coruscant caf place. Flowers from Naboo fill the air with their perfume. Abstract paintings hang from the walls. Acoustic music plays from speakers tucked in the corners of the ceiling. The barista’s expression shows that they’re one bad customer away from diving into speeder traffic.

Ahsoka thinks it suits Barriss. She looks nice in the low light, wreathed in flowers and art.

They walk up to the counter, and Barriss immediately launches into describing her order. It’s long, complicated, and punctuated with vague gestures and strange adjectives. Ahsoka sees the look of desperation in the barista’s sleepy face when he turns to take her order.

“Something cold that tastes like vanilla, please” she says, slipping a few credits into their hand. “Take your time.”

The barista does, indeed, take their time. A lot of time. Probably more time than necessary, really. But Ahsoka doesn’t mind, and neither does Barriss. When the barista finally returns with their drinks, Barriss is pleasantly surprised it’s actually what she ordered, and Ahsoka is just grateful to have something to sip on.

Barriss picks the table. It’s far from any of the few other patrons, nestled in the corner by a potted plant and a window frosting at the edges in the night air. The speed and lack of hesitation in Barriss’s movements suggest this is her regular spot.

Ahsoka takes a seat, grateful to get off her feet. Her boots are starting to get threadbare, her toes are aching, and the chair, despite being made mostly of metal and paper thin cushions, is surprisingly comfortable.

“Come here often?” Ahsoka asks before she realises the question is one a lecherous spacer would ask in a cantina.

Barriss nods as she sips her drink. “Yes. It’s a bit of a way from my apartment, but I enjoy it all the same.”

Ahsoka tries her own drink. It’s cold enough to make her throat ache, and it tastes as though someone shoved an entire bottle of vanilla extract into it. It’s perfect.

“So, why’d you pick medicine?” Ahsoka asks.

Barriss smiles. “My mother studied it, as did my grandmother, great grandfather, great great grandmother, and both of my great great great grandparents. Great great great great grandfather Joli dropped out halfway through school, so he doesn’t count.”

Ahsoka whistles. “Talk about a family business. You guys must have saved entire star systems by now.”

“Besides the precedent, medicine is a worthy cause.” Barriss sits back in her seat. “What about you? What subject are you focusing on?”

“Starship engineering and functionality. Not quite as charitable as medicine, but someone’s gotta keep the galaxy’s fleets in space, and that someone might as well be me.”

“Do you have any family members in the engineering field?”

“I’ve got a brother, but he’s more into pod-racing and landspeeders than ships.” She flashes a toothy grin. “I’m a trailblazer.”

Barriss smirks for about one nanosecond before she remembers what they came here for. “Oh, the papers!”

Ahsoka groans. Even  _ thinking  _ about that damn paper is making her head pound. “Oh, the papers.”

Barriss sits up straight, her relaxation replaced with professionalism. “What is your topic, how many sources required, how long?”

Ahsoka groans again. “Overlaps and similarities in Old Republic literary movements and modern day post-postmodernism, eight, 3,800.”

Barriss eyes dart to the window as she thinks. “Madam Nu?”

“I wasn’t aware she had that much of a reputation.”

“She does lectures at the medical school on occasion. I coughed during one of them and I thought she was going to vaporise me on the spot.”

That’s Madam Nu alright.

“What about you?” Ahsoka asks.

“Xenobiological medical procedure compatibility between non humanoids and Near-Human races, ten, 4,500,” Barriss recites like it’s her death sentence.

Ahsoka can only say one word. “Damn.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Barriss replies. “You go first. What are you having difficulties with?”

Ahsoka considers the question. “...Everything. I just can’t get started. I’ve redone the intro six times now.”

Barriss grows grim. “A common enough problem in any academic setting, medical or otherwise. You have your sources picked?”

The names are burned into Ahsoka’s brain. “Tali’s  _ Historiography,  _ Candela’s  _ Study of Planetary Artisans,  _ Ghxthil’s  _ A Remembrance of Spring,  _ Languolop’s  _ Five Reasons to Give Up Life,  _ Asklo’s  _ The Nature of Writing,  _ Diaq’s  _ The Pen is Mightier than an Exceptionally Dull Vibroblade,  _ Hejk’s  _ The Post-Postmodern Movement in Galactic Literature,  _ and Jaz’s  _ Literary Cycles Throughout the Ages. _ ”

“Fifth edition of  _ Literary Cycles,  _ I’m assuming? The fourth is hardly worth the effort of reading.”

“You’re familiar with it?”

Barriss smiles. “I try to keep myself busy. I’m surprised the library doesn’t have a bed for me by now.” She wraps both her hands around her cup. “Do you know what your conclusion is?”

Ahsoka sinks into her seat and says, “Yep. Got that all worked out. If only I could just start the thing.”

“Maybe you should try starting at the ending. If you have a conclusion worked out, it might help you structure the rest of the paper.” Barriss says it meekly, like she’s sharing an embarrassing personal story, and not advice that suddenly cracks the problem wide open.

Ahsoka laughs. It’s so simple, yet she never would've thought of it by herself. She’s sometimes too stubborn to see the big picture, according to Anakin, and this paper is perhaps one of those times.

“I’ll have to give that a shot,” Ahsoka says. “Now, what’s your problem?”

Barriss lets out an almighty sigh that’s not entirely different from the one Ahsoka gave to her computer. “I have no idea what I’m trying to argue.”

Ouch.

“At all?” Ahsoka asks. She’s doesn’t know Barriss well, but she’s under the impression that her being clueless is a rare event, borderline impossible to witness.

Barriss takes another sip from her drink, leaving a thick, fat line of foam on her upper lip. “I have a general idea but... there’s  _ so much  _ I have to talk about.” She makes no motion to clean her face.

Ahsoka grins, wondering if Barriss will notice her newly acquired moustache. “Talk it out.”

Barriss’s fingers tap her cup rhythmically. “Well, it’s clear that a great deal of work still needs to be made to ensure that medical procedures are made as universally applicable as possible given the vast range of anatomies in the galaxy.” Her voice lowers, apparently she’s sharing a horrific secret. “There are some sentient species in the Outer Rim that are not properly documented and registered in over ninety percent of Republic medical droid models! Think of the  _ difficulties  _ that could potentially arise from this!” The foam moustache quivers as she speaks.

Ahsoka nods along, struggling to keep a straight face. “That is an abysmal situation. Keep going.”

Barriss takes a deep breath. “With that in mind, I’m leaning towards arguing for an increase in uniformity and diagnostic systems nondependent on Republic medical databases.” Her eyes light up, and a curve tugs at the edge of her mouth. “That’s it! I just have to show that current standards for documenting non-humanoid data aren’t sufficient!”

Barriss is very,  _ very  _ cute when she’s excited.

Barriss continues. “And then I have to organise the third section to match the second, then- why are you smiling? Did I say something funny?” The moustache waggles accusingly.

Ahsoka stifles a laugh, and points at her own lip. Barriss arches a brow in confusion. “What?”

Ahsoka’s efforts to contain herself fall flat. For kriff’s sake, Barriss looks like Rex after he forgets to shave!

Barriss snorts, but it’s more frustration and derision than amusement. “What?”

Ahsoka points at her own lips again, then at Barriss’s. She takes the hint this time, and she whips her head to study her reflection in the window.

“Oh dear,” she says, cheeks flushing with a nearly imperceptible tinge of forest green. She starts to raise her sleeve to her mouth.

Ahsoka figures that jacket has seen enough abuse for the night, and she’s in a chivalrous mood. She reaches into her coat and removes the last napkin. “Allow me.”

Barriss expresses a frankly impressive variety of emotions in the span of two seconds. First, her eyes narrow in a  _ delicious _ combination of annoyance and disbelief at Ahsoka’s audacity. Second, her hands run along the edge of the table, flustered. Third, she snorts again, and it’s out of levity, not irritation.

Last, but certainly not least, she smiles. “Go ahead.”

Ahsoka leans across the table and gently wipes the foam off of Barriss’s face. They lock eyes for a moment, and Ahsoka sees the universe glowing in those shards of ice. She sees unbroken promises and peaceful autumn nights. She sees warm blankets on a cold night.

It takes Ahsoka a moment to remember to remove her hand. She withdraws the napkin. “All done.”

“Tha-”

A ridiculously overly played, overly saccharine, overly autotuned pop song about kissing cute girls and riding fast speeder bikes starts to blare from Barriss’s pocket, drawing glares from the few other patrons in earshot. Barriss yelps, flushes hard, and flails at her jacket. She manages to fumble a datapad the size of her palm from a pocket, and the music ceases after a few desperate taps from her fingers.

Ahsoka doesn’t try to hide her laugh this time around. It’s not a dignified laugh, or even an undignified chortle. It’s the sort of airless giggle that can only be caused by a random event at half past midnight. “What was that?” she asks, once she catches her breath.

Barriss continues to tap away at the pad, deliberately not meeting Ahsoka’s eyes. “I set an alarm to remind myself to get to bed. I forgot to turn it off.”

“And the song?”

Barriss gulps. “I accidenta- I pressed the wrong button- My hand slipped when I...” She lets out a sigh weighed with resignation and defeat. “I happen to enjoy it, alright?”

Ahsoka thinks it’s more than alright.  _ Fantastic. _

“I’m not complaining.” Ahsoka replays the last few sentences in her head. “I guess that’s your cue, huh?”

Barriss starts to get up. “I’m sorry, but I really must be going, I have class early in the morning.” Her fingers run across the stray curl of hair poking from under her scarf. “This was nice, Ahsoka.”

“We should do it again sometime,” Ahsoka says. She’s feeling confident, so she presses on. “Want to meet up again?”

Barriss nods. “That would be lovely. I have some free time in between classes at the end of the week. Would you like to go to the library? We can see how we did on our papers.” She’s giddy at the prospect, and that is  _ adorable. _

The library is not the setting Ahsoka planned on, and comparing grades is not the activity she envisioned, but it’ll do.

“Sounds like a plan,” Ahsoka says. “Catch you later. Try not to bump into someone again.”

Barriss grins as she walks away. “I’ll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> Star War Canon, a fool: Ahsoka is just over 6' as an adult, and Togrutas as a species are not significantly taller than most other humanoids  
> Me, an intellectual: Ahsoka and all Togrutas are awe inspiring with their monolithic, professional basketball player, height


End file.
